


Would Never Find; Anyone as Trusting or As Kind.

by surabayuh



Series: legacy (a garden you never get to see) [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Morgan is so loved, Rhodey is a Wonderful Uncle, Tony Stark Has A Heart, pepper is a great mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surabayuh/pseuds/surabayuh
Summary: “Uncle Rhodey,” Said Morgan as Rhodey helped brushing her dolls’ hair. “If you’re not daddy’s brother, then how are you my Uncle?”Rhodey looked at the kid on his lap and remembered another kid he found on that stupid frat party—the kid who turned into a man, turned into a hero, turned into dying before his eyes.“He’s my best friend, that’s why I’m your uncle.” Was what he answered her with.“Will I have a best friend too, Uncle Rhodey?” Asked Morgan, fingers tangled on her dolls' locks. “Like you and daddy?”Rhodey's eyes grew unconsciously glassy as he reminisced Tony and their shenanigans and 'next time, you ride with me' and 'Oh Shit, we set it on fire'—“I hope so, kiddo,” He said, croaking, smiling, “It’s the best thing you’ll ever have.”





	Would Never Find; Anyone as Trusting or As Kind.

“Uncle Rhodey,” Said Morgan as Rhodey helped brushing her dolls’ hair. “You’re not daddy’s brother.” She said, not looking up. 

Rhodey stopped the brushing motion, then turned to Morgan, raising one eyebrow impressively. “I sure am not.” He said, putting down the brush, which had some Barbie hair stuck to it—those synthetic locks were  _really hard_ to brush, Rhodey was halfway convinced Morgan’s dolls would end up being bald. “What brought this on?”  

Morgan shrugged, putting down her brush as well. “Today at school we learned about family.” She said, looking up at him with _his_ brown eyes. “Ms. Carlyle said that Aunts and Uncles are siblings to your parents.” She moved the two dolls in her grip closer together to prove a point. “But you’re not daddy’s brother, nor are you mommy’s, so why are you my Uncle?”  

The man blinked, once, twice. “Well, to start off, your curriculum needs a fast update on what they consider as family,” he clarified, feeling somewhat annoyed at  _Ms. Carlyle_ for her description. “Family’s more than being blood-related, Kiddo. Remember how Peter and Harley are your brothers, but they have their own mom and sister and aunt?”  

Morgan squirmed on her seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. “Yeah,” She said, nodding slowly. “They’re my brothers because daddy took care of them.”  

“That’s right,” Rhodey moved closer to her, bringing her dolls together to signify a point. “So me being your uncle is kind of like that. So is Auntie Nebula being your Aunt, or Uncle Brucie being your Uncle, or even  _Dum-E_ and  _U_ as your siblings _,_ and they’re not even human.” He chuckled, softly.  

“Oh,” Said Morgan, softly, trying to process it. She was _smart,_ Rhodey could already tell, but she was still five years old after all, and had the whole world ahead of her. “Did daddy take care of you, too?” 

Rhodey’s mind brought him back to the MIT dormitory hallway, barely 19 and kind of lost among the sea of people partying and being _loud._ His mind reminded him of that fateful night, of a boy that  _couldn’t be more_ _than fifteen years old,_ so drunk and ready to fight men twice his age  _and_ weight.  

“ _Stop_ _holdin'_ _me back!” He had yelled, his speech slurred and his stance wobbly._

_Rhodey_ _rolled his eyes and dragged him anyway. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning-” he said, pulling him outside the halls, to the balcony to get some fresh air-_

_Just in time for the boy to hurl over his head to the railings and threw all of his gut’s content over from the second floor._ _Rhodey_ _heard a rather disgusted “What the_ fuck _!” from downstairs and winced, pulling the boy back inside the dingy, loud hallway that gave even_ him  _headache._  

 _He dragged him to his room, one floor down, and practically had to shoulder him over in order to keep him moving. “Don’t you dare puke on me-”_   _Rhodey_ _grumbled when the boy dry-heaved, before realizing that he didn’t know his name._  

“ _Tony,” mumbled the boy, “and if I puke on you, I’ll buy you some new clothes.”_  

 _“So you’re rich, we get it.” Said_ _Rhodey_ _, rolling his eyes as he kicked the bathroom door and guided the boy—Tony—to the toilet bowl. Just in time, he thought, dryly, as Tony immediately went into a second-_ _vomiting spree._ _Rhodey_ _rubbed his back gently. “Let it all out, Midget.” He said, his tone just a bit affectionate._  

 _“_ _N't_ _a_ _m'get."_ _Tony protested, his words jumbled and mashed together as his head was still halfway dunked into the bowl. “am_ _l’ke_ _,_ _ol_ _’.” He said, before he puked again._  

 _“_ _Mmhm_ _, and I’m a dinosaur.”_ _Rhodey_ _said, skeptically. “How old are you, anyway? Fourteen?”_  

 _“Fifteen,” Tony finally rose, heaving as he leaned to the toilet._ _Rhodey_ _held his breath as he stood up and flushed the toilet for him, before getting him a glass of water._  

_“Isn’t it illegal for you to drink?”_ _Rhodey_ _asked in amusement as Tony practically inhaled the water in one gulp. “There’s_ _gotta_ _be a law that you’re breaking somewhere.”_

_“You’re the law.” Said Tony, waving his hand away to_ _Rhodey_ _. He sounded so petulant, so_ ** _childish._**  

 _“And you’re not making any sense.”_ _Rhodey_ _hoisted the boy up, and brought him to his bed, gently throwing him there. “You’re staying here till the morning,”_ _Rhodey_ _declared, leaving no room for argument._  

 _Tony struggled to sit himself up, trying to glare at_ _Rhodey_ _and fantastically failing. He finally gave up and threw himself back on the bed, groaning._ _Rhodey_ _shook his head fondly, at this strange kid who was clearly way over his own head._  

 _He returned to his bathroom and took another glass of water, offering it to Tony as a sign of truce. “Here. Drink up.” He said, playfully glaring at him as Tony slowly grabbed the drink away from him. He sat on the edge of his bed, in silence, as Tony finished his water in another spectacularly large gulp._  

 _“_ _y’know_ _,” Tony suddenly said, his voice raspy but still clearer than most times_ _Rhodey_ _had heard him in their short encounter, “you’re the first guy who’s nice to me in-” he raised his free hand, narrowing his eyes to his extended fingers. “awhile,” he amended._  

 _Rhodey’s_ _smile softened, taking the glass and pushing his face back to bed. “Go to sleep, Tones.” He said, kindly. Something about this drunk kid made him care, be it his young, naïve face, his slightly jagged speech or the faint stench of alcohol-bile-mix coming out from his mouth, or the fact that he looked as lost as he was. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”_  

 _“I didn’t know your name.” Tony piped up, sleepily, when_ _Rhodey_ _moved away to climb onto the other bed that was supposed to belong to his roommate, who never showed up._  

 _Rhodey_ _paused—he'd been introducing himself as with his first name to these strange, intelligent bunch he’d found himself in this campus, thinking that they were far too detached, too impersonal to know his_ ** _real_** _name. But something about this boy—_  

 _“_ _Rhodey_ _,” He blurted out before he could really think about it. “Name’s_ _Rhodey_ _, kid.”_  

 _Tony offered him a weak smile, trying to look at him as best as his hazy eyes could. “Good night, then,_ _Rhodey."_  

 _Two days later, Tony moved his stuff into his room._  

“Uncle Rhodey,” Morgan whined, and Rhodey was pulled out from his reverie. “You blanked out on me.” She protested, tapping his knee with the Ken doll’s head.  

Rhodey chuckled, looking at Morgan softly as he was greeted with those  _big, brown eyes. “_ Sorry, Kiddo,” He amended, tucking a loose lock behind her ear. “Your dad and I, we took care of each other,” He explained to her, recalling the past and   _that’s not how you do it, Platypus—oh Shit we set it on_ ** _fire_** — “He’s my best friend,   _that’s_ why I’m your uncle.”  

Morgan’s eyes widened. “ _Best_ friend?” She said, her tone in innocent confusion. “Is it better than regular  _friends_?” She queried, inching closer to him.  

“Oh,” Rhodey said, his eyes unconsciously glassy as he reminisced Tony and their shenanigans and  _next time, you ride with me_ and   _Sugar Bear_ and— “Yeah, kiddo,” he said, softly, “it’s  _way_ better.” He pulled her to his lap, idly playing with her hair as he noted on how she looked just like  _him._  

 _“_ Will I have a best friend too, Uncle Rhodey?” Asked Morgan, fingers tangled up into her dolls' locks. “Like you and daddy?”  

Rhodey gulped the emotions down, looking at the kid on his lap and remembered  _another kid_ he found on that stupid frat party—the kid who turned into a man, turned into a hero, turned into  _dying_  before his eyes. “I hope so, kiddo,” He said, croaking, “It’s the best thing you’ll ever have.”  _And the worst thing simultaneously._  

He hid his face to her hair so she wouldn’t notice his tears streaming, but Morgan’s hand traveled to his knees and pat it, softly, as if she  _knew._  

* * *

Mom was a picture hoarder, Morgan had decided. She had about five-six pictures proudly displayed at her work desk—three of which had her embarrassingly large face for anyone to see. There were some others, too; Grandma and Grandpa Potts, along with Uncle Phil and Aunt Meghan; Daddy staring into mom’s eyes on a black-and-white wedding portrait, and the collective Iron Family, so they were dubbed. 

But what intrigued her most was the picture of mom, standing together with Aunt Natasha and Aunt Helen, arms linked with one another and faces smiling wide to the camera. “They’re one of my best friends, Baby,” Said mom when Morgan asked, her eyes sad and yet, wistful.  

Morgan remembered aunt Nat only vaguely—she'd been babysitting her back when she was _small._ She told her stories that she couldn’t quite recall, and she had a raspy voice and kind eyes, which often brimmed to tears when she and mommy talked in hushed tones while they thought Morgan was dead asleep on the couch.  

Aunt Helen, though, she could recall; she’d always hopped from one part of the world to another, and her visits to the lake-house could be counted with one hand. _But_ mom did seem to always had a blast whenever she was around. Aunt Helen would call, sometimes, when mom was silent-crying on the living room after she put Morgan to bed, and Morgan could hear her soothing voice amplified from the quiet echoes of the wall.  

“Like daddy and uncle Rhodey?” Asked Morgan, again. Mom nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Morgan pretended to not see the escaping tear running down her cheek.  

“Yeah, baby.” She said, nodding. “Just like your daddy and Uncle Rhodey.”  

Morgan, ten and curious and kind of bored from school earlier, had heard the word  _best friend_ a lot; she’d seen it on chick-flick shows Aunt Nebula seemed to like so much, heard it proclaimed by her friends in school. The word was so  _trivial,_ so common, but the way mom said it, like Aunt Nat and Aunt Helen were  _holy grails_ in her life, made her wondered. “How do you know that someone’s your best friend?” She asked, looking at the picture intently.  

She could hear mom shakily inhale her breath. “Well, they feel like one of the best things you've ever discovered in life.” her voice sounded thicker, raspier, as she caressed Morgan’s head. “You kind of would do anything for them,” She said, bunching Morgan’s hair together into her hands and started braiding them, “When they’re happy,  _you’re_ happy,” She continued, picking a rubber-band from her table. “and when they’re sad, you’re willing to turn the world around just to see them smile again.” She concluded, finishing the braid just a moment later. 

Morgan touched her hair, then turned to her mother. “Do you miss Aunt Nat, mom?” She asked, tentatively. 

Mom nodded her head as she bit her lip, “Everyday, Baby.” She said, voice just barely above a whisper. “Everytime I miss your daddy, I miss her too.”  

* * *

Morgan was thirteen when she thought she found her best friend. 

She didn’t necessarily have many friends—quite unlike her mother, the social butterfly, and her father, the public enigma, Morgan was quite introverted and practical, only keeping little acquaintances once at a time. So to break through that habit was something quite extraordinary for her.  

Her name was Rachael Pierce, a girl she was paired up to sit with incidentally at Biology. She had a loud laugh and made the weirdest jokes, and she would drag Morgan around; to her house, to her weekend-beach-party, to every single one of her vlogs. They’d film pranks together, planned skits together, and most of the times Morgan even did her homework when she begged, weighing in onto the social science subjects like history and geography, even drew for her art project once. Morgan loved her with all her heart, and she would do  _anything_ for this girl with braces and the biggest smile she had ever seen, sometimes even saying yes to things she didn’t really like. 

Morgan was sixteen when she was betrayed by her best friend. 

 _It was all for clout,_ she’d heard Rachel say to this girl at the corner of  _her_  living room at  _her_ secret-house-party; the one she’d reluctantly held because of Rachel’s endless begging.   _She’s not even interesting, or smart like her dad; just famous enough for me to gain followers and subscribers from those Iron Man worshipers out there, and maybe paint for my art class every once in a while._  

She dropped her drink-filled red cup and fought to hold back tears. She got a hold enough of herself to announce to people that the party had to end  _early,_ made some bullshit excuse that her mom had been unexpectedly back early from her business trip in Ibiza and was heading straight home. The kids groaned but and protested but Morgan’s mind was elsewhere.  

 _It was all for clout._  

Rachael didn’t even offer to help—she just  _left_ , with the rest of the group. Didn’t say anything other than “See you later, Morgo!” before flipping her hair and walked out like nothing happened, like she didn’t just broke Morgan’s heart. 

Right after the last man exited her front porch, Morgan broke  _down;_ she slid down the floor, back kept upright by the door, and cried and yelled and threw paper cups to the air, tears flowing freely down her face. 

 _How dare she,_ Morgan thought, bitterly  _I gave her all and she treated me like I’m a commodity._  

Then,  _was it because something that I did? Am I really too boring?_  

The doorbell rang and she wiped her tears for some semblance of dignity, and slowly rose from her feet to open up, expecting it was Peter— 

Only to find that it was Ned instead. 

“Uh,” Ned said, shifting slightly. “Peter wanted to come, but he had an, um, a meeting!” He said, his voice pitched on the last word. “Yeah, a meeting, and he can’t leave it so he sent me instead.”  

Morgan narrowed her swollen eyes at him, “He had a patrol and hurt himself, didn’t he,” She concluded, flatly, her voice coming out nasally as she wiped the snot with her sleeve.  

Ned balked, “No! He, uh--” He paused, then lowered his head, looking defeated. “Yeah.” he finally conceded, “MJ's tending him—he broke his shin can can’t walk, otherwise he would’ve come.” He said, looking at her head-to-toe. “Can I come in?” 

Realizing that she’d only opened her door slightly ajar, she pulled it wider, letting the man came in. Ned walked right into the mess; the stray paper cups, the half-finished pizzas on the table, the still-on stereos. “ _Wow.”_ Was all he said.  

“I was going to ask Peter for help to clean it up,” Morgan mumbled as she wiped her eyes again, her entire body feeling  _tired_ and  _sad. “_ If you don’t want to, that’s okay, you can go home. Sorry to bother you.” She said again, before Ned could really say anything. 

Ned narrowed his eyes at her before approaching her closer. “Hey, no,” He said, gently. “Of course I would help you clean up. You’re my best friend’s _sister,”_ He said, playfully.  

There was that phrase again;  _best friend._ Hearing it made Morgan flinch. 

All she could see was Rachael, laughing about her when she thought that Morgan wasn’t looking.  

“Thanks,” was all Morgan managed to say, before she turned off the stereo. They worked in silence; picking up the trash one by one, putting the askew furniture back to their positions. Morgan saw Ned snuck himself a slice of pizza when he thought he wasn’t looking. 

“One hell of a party, huh,” He quipped, when the silence was way too unbearable.  

Morgan kept her head low as she stashed the cigars on the ashtray to the trash-bag. “Not really, no.” She said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Her voice ended up being really weird; a mix of low, throaty baritone and slightly clogged up by emotions.  

Ned paused, and Morgan could see him looking at her from the periphery of her eyes. “Wanna talk about it?” He offered, gently. “Peter said I’m a good listener.” He boasted, playfully. 

She wanted to say no, spare the man some relief from hearing her teenage angst, he’d helped her clean up these godforsaken _cups_ for God’s sake, but her mouth had a mind of its own. “My best friend is a bitch.” She said, before she could really hold herself back. 

Not that she really wanted to.  

The man halted his scavenging, and straightened himself, now his attention fully on her. “Oh?” He said, his tone upturned and soft, expecting her to go on. 

“It’s just,” Morgan dumped her trash-bag to the ground, and herself along with it. “She told someone that she wasn’t really my friend." She said, miserably. “That I’m not interesting  _nor_ smart, and that I’m only a tool for her social ascend to popularity.”  

 _It was all for clout._  

“Oh,” this time he sounded quite dumbfounded. “That does sound like a bitch.” He said, gently dragging his trash-bag as he approached her.  

“We’re friends for three  _years.”_ Morgan mumbled; head tucked into her folded knees. “And for her, all of it was  _nothing.”_ She felt the tears started to trickle again. “That shit  _hurts.”_  

Ned sat next to her, and Morgan could sense that he was awkwardly hovering over her, unsure on what to do. “Hey, Morgan, hey, it’s okay.” He said, gently, hand just lightly touching the top of her head. 

“No it’s  _not,”_ Morgan whimpered, “I put all my heart to her and she just—” She raised her head puffed, “just like  _that.”_ She looked at him, teary eyed and tired. “How did she even  _do_ that?” She was so  _miserable, “_ Is it me? Is it something that I did?” She pressed onto this man, who quite frankly looked like he was quite overwhelmed to hear from her at half-to-midnight.  

“Okay, wow,” He said, after a split second of silence. “First of all, _no._ You did absolutely nothing wrong to her, and she was just an inherent  _bitch_.” He said, solemnly, seriously, and his rounded face made Morgan smile a little. “and secondly; the next time you see her you go  _away._ F lip your hair and made sure some of it whip her face—She doesn’t deserve the title of being your best friend. She doesn’t deserve  _you.”_  

Morgan laughed, wetly, at the image Ned’s words had conjured up for her. “You and Peter—” She said, croaking, “You have such a special bond,” And she could really  _feel it;_ it was palpable, from the way they would talk to the fact that he was willing to drive into her house—a practical  _nobody_ to him—at 11 PM for Peter’s sake.  

She thought of Mom and Aunt Helen. 

Thought of Harley and RiRi.  

Thought of Uncle Bruce and Uncle Thor. 

Thought of Uncle Rhodey, how his eyes shone every time he talked about  _daddy._  

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get that.” She admitted quietly, her voice feathery as if she was afraid to let the words out.  

Ned’s hand was now firmly setting onto her head, rubbing it gently. “Hey,” He said, softly. “You’ll get it one day, Morgan. Trust me.” He tilted her chin, making her look at him. “There’s gonna be someone out there who wants to be your friend for you—not your fame, not your capability, just  _you.”_  

Morgan looked at him, eyes watery. “You really think so?”  

Ned squeezed her shoulders. “I  _know_ so.” He said, solemnly. “You’ll find them, Morgan. Trust me.”  

Morgan nodded, her smile tentative and hopeful. “Okay,” She whispered. “Thanks, Ned.”  

“Anytime, Morgan.”  

The next time Morgan saw Rachael, she did exactly what she was told to do; flipped her hair, made sure some of it got to Rachael’s face, and walked away.  

* * *

Ah, Harvard University; the pinnacle of education; the hub for knowledge; the center of where the intelligent and brilliants meet, the— 

“What are you  _doing?”_  

Morgan froze mid-crawling her way into the closest bench to the door and looked up, only to find two girls, sitting at the outer corner of the row, looking at her in half-confusion and mild-amusement.  

She had woken up late; didn’t even change her pajamas top before she bolted out from her dorm room, straight to the class wearing a set of mismatched sneakers. She had no make-up, her hair was a  _mess,_ and she was trying to discreetly hide her heavy breathing from all the running.  This was her first week in college, and she was already half-dreadful when she heard the lecturer’s voice saying “...and if you’re coming in late to my class   _once,_ you won’t be allowed to come in ever again.” from across the hallway.  

It was a miracle that the man didn’t catch her sneaking in and crawling her way to the nearest seat.  

The girls continued to stare at her, one of them raising their eyebrows, expecting an answer. Morgan put one finger atop her lips, shushing them rather desperately before motioning the small space between them and pointing to her chest. _Can I sit there?_ She mouthed.  

Both girls exchanged looks, and for a second Morgan was afraid that one of them would snitch, but then the girls scooted over, rather discreetly, and motioned Morgan to slowly come up between them.  

Morgan was just placing her butt to the seat in relief when the lecturer finished writing and turned his head, scanning the class left-right, up-down. His eyes zeroed on Morgan, narrowing as he said, “Were there not only two of you there in the corner a minute before?” He pointed the two girls each sitting next to her.  

His words made Morgan lose her breath, and half her mind was already churning out reasons; “ _oh, I just came back from the toilet sir,”_ or “ _i_ _was taking the notes the whole time and was a bit hunched, sir,”_ while the other half is racking itself on how to explain to mom that she already got kicked out of a class on her first week— 

“No, there were three of us the whole time,” A voice snapped Morgan out of her reverie, and she found the girl on her right speaking with the utmost confidence, her lie impeccable as she did not once bat an eye. “You must have seen incorrectly, sir.”  

It took all Morgan’s might to prevent herself from gaping, as the lines on the lecturer’s forehead went deeper at the cheeky accusation. “You do understand that I also do not tolerate people who cover for their misbehaving friends, right?” he said, almost threateningly.  

“Yes, sir, certainly,” Said the other girl on her left. “We’re merely stating the fact.” She turned to Morgan and gave the girl a flash smile before turning back to the lecturer, her gaze undeterred.  

The lecturer glared at the three of them—a band of mismatched girls barely scratching their first year of college—and finally let the whole thing go. “Alright,” He said, rather heavily, “now going to the subject of Criminal Justice...”  

Morgan exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thanks,” She whispered to the girls, giving them her most gratuitous smile.  

“You’re welcome,” said the girl on her right with the same hushed tone, grinning. “The key is to stare at him, square on the eyes.” She winked.  

The girl on Morgan’s left quipped, adding “He’s used to kids being baffled and uncomfortable by his confrontations, so we gotta throw him off guard.”  

Morgan grinned at them. “I’m Morgan, by the way,” She whispered, realizing that they didn’t really know each other’s name.  

“Sarah,” Said the girl on her right, squeezing her hand.  

“Kirana,” The girl on her right, grinning.  

“You three!” The voice of the lecturer snapped out from the reverie, and he was narrowing his eyes at them again. “Either one of you, explain to me the purpose of the Criminal Justice system!”  

Morgan caught Sarah blinking and Kirana halfway gaping, no doubt gearing their mind to answer the unexpected question. Morgan looked at them at a split second, before squeezing their hands before saying, “According to the separate opinion of Judge Guillaume in the case of Arrest Warrant before the International Court of Justice Tribunal year 2001, the Criminal Justice System functions as the regulation of penalty for breaches of law happening in a specific territory where such laws apply...”  

Morgan expected her first day to be quite eventful—what with how it started, how could she not? 

Finding two new friends, however, were not within her lists of expectations. Nevertheless, as she, Kirana and Sarah advanced to lunch in giggles and shit-talks after the class was over, she decided she liked this unexpected plot twist.  

* * *

 Going forward, Morgan noted Sarah and Kirana were so many ways that Rachael wasn’t.  

For once, Sarah and Kirana didn’t shove cameras into Morgan’s face for  _another_ _youtube_ _short!_ They didn’t ask her to  _do_ their homeworks, they asked her to  _help_ them through it. They respected her decision whenever she said she wasn’t particularly interested in doing something, or when she needed a time off, or when they had a disagreement.  

Rachael would always said that Morgan was right whenever she had a problem with someone else; Kirana called bullshit on her defenses whenever necessary. Rachael would never question Morgan's decisions to her face; Sarah would, everytime Morgan was being utterly, exasperatingly irrational about it.  

Morgan noticed that Sarah had the giddiest voice she’d ever heard, and that Kirana’s laughter were so genuine the corners of her eyes crinkled whenever Morgan cracked a joke. 

They warmed up to her the way no one hadn’t, not for a while.  

But Morgan realized that they were more than mere college buddies, that their bond transcended far more than just movie sessions and late-night studies, on one random night when she was having a really, really horrible breakdown.  

It was stupid, really; she was video-calling with her mom and had listened to the almighty Virginia Potts complaining about her back pains and her sore legs. She’d usually brush it off, but then Morgan started noticing that her mother had more grey hair than she had strawberry blonde, and she hand wrinkles and tired eyes and— 

 _And suddenly she was four again, watching the flowers floating to the center of the lake, only this time the arc reactor said “Proof that Pepper Potts has a heart” instead of Tony Stark, and then she was truly_   ** _alone,_** _standing on that deck clutching uncle Rhodey’s hand and watching the remnants of her mother sink—_  

It was ridiculous, her breakdown—her mother wasn’t dying, nor was she sick; just tired. Still, she couldn’t focus on her paper after the call, she couldn’t even stomach any food, her mind going back and forth at the concept of mom, old and withering and someday  _dying, like daddy, and she had to lose a second time—_  

Dialing them into conference was an impulse, but Kirana first picked up, then Sarah, and then she just started sobbing while saying “ _my mom is too old what if she dies too soon,”_ and then Sarah, who lost her father to cancer when she was fifteen, spoke with hushed, calming tones telling her  _i_ _t’ll be shitty, and it’ll be painful, but you’ll survive like you always do;_ and Kirana, who might never knew loss firsthand but was empathetic enough, said encouragingly,  _she’s still here, so make the most that you can—she's still vibrant and present so this is your chance to cherish her and nurture her and love her just three-thousand-times more._ And they might end up less talking, more sobbing at the concept of grief and death, but no one laughed at Morgan’s breakdown, no one said  _you’re being dramatic,_ no one brushed it off like it was nothing. Kirana and Sarah, above all,  _listened,_ the way no one else outside her family had never tried to. 

That night Morgan slept with lighter chest that she’d had in a while, and despite waking up with swollen eyes and having to put on extra thick eyeliner the next morning, she wouldn’t trade last night for the world.  

 _There’s_ _gonna_ _be someone out there who wants to be your friend for you—not your fame, not your capability, just_ _ **you**. _ 

 _“_ Well would you look at that, Ned,” She muttered to herself as Sarah and Kirana approached her with equally thick eyeliner, grinning, “I got myself  _two.”_  

* * *

Rhodey hadn’t been to the garage in a while. 

It was Saturday and Carol was outside their two-story house, showing off her photon blasts to the girls as they stared at her in awe. He observed Morgan and her friends as they yelled in excitement when Carol hit another target dead center. Morgan’s eyes shone the way he’d never seen it before, and he _knew._  

He smiled as he turned away, rummaging through his stash of superhero gears—he was 69 years old now; a full-on senior citizen at this point and less of the War Machine he used to be known for. But sometimes, he liked to pick up the helmet, relinquish the old memories, the battles, the stupid missions he went through with _him._  

The helmet still had the dent he obtained on the day he lost his best friend. He sighed, shakily, smile growing somber as he stared on the eyeholes. His fingers expertly went through the sides of the mask, trying to find a button _somewhere—_  

 _“Hey, there, Platypus.”_  

Ah.  

By now, Rhodey could already memorize the only message Tony Stark had left him post-mortem, word-per-word. He used to watch it every night  _after,_ even asked FRIDAY download it to his suit system. Still, as he watched the hologram of his best friend grinning, breathing,  _living,_ he couldn’t help but to be just as mesmerized and as  _wistful_ as he did the first time he watched it.  

“ _I hope you never have to listen to this message, because if you do then it means that death has finally landed its claws to my shoulder.”_ Tony, and his morbid humor on death, always managed to elicit a smile onto Rhodey’s face.  

“ _Anyway, if you do see this message, let me ask you one question; how does it feel to live in a world without Tony Stark?”_

"Boring,” Rhodey said, in mild amusement. “No one to blow up random shits with anymore.”  

“ _I’m hoping there’s_ _gonna_ _be statues of me everywhere,”_ Tony said, cheekily, “ _and murals. And memorials. God,_ ** _please_** _tell me I’m_ _gonna_ _go with a bang.”_  

 _“_ More like a  _snap,”_ Rhodey interjected, and it still  _stung,_ thinking about that day, but the levity of his best friend’s face and the time had softened the blow, and the joke was as painful as it was witty.  

 _“I bet you’re crying now,”_ Tony continued, still cheeky, though now his tone a bit more apologetic. Rhodey could already feel the beginning of tears brimming on his lids. “ _Kind of sorry for that. But don’t worry about me, I’ll most probably be alright, wherever I am.”_ He winked.  

Rhodey snorted. 

“ _You though, I need to ask a favor,”_ Tony’s tone grew more serious, " _I'_ _m sure you’ll already do this, what with your godly responsibilities and your attachment to the kid, but Morgan,”_ He sighed, lowering his head, “ _my baby girl, she’s going to need a father figure.”_  

Rhodey stole a glance at the aforementioned, oblivious daughter; less a girl, more a woman, now. 

“ _I trusted you my life,”_ Tony said, softly, “ _And now I’m trusting you with her.”_ The holographic imprint of his best friend approached closer, and now they were eye to eye, inches apart. “ _I_ _don’t need to hope that I’m making the right decision because every second spent with you,”_ Tony smiled, kindly, genuinely, “ _was never a regret.”_  

Mutely, Rhodey agreed;  _better to feel the pain of losing him,_ he thought,  _than never knowing him at all._  

 _“I can only hope that Morgan would be lucky enough to find a best friend like you.”_ Tony said, with a tone of finality, “ _I love you, Sugar-Bear. Thanks for dragging me away from that fight all those decades ago.”_ He grinned, and Rhodey followed, his smile still there even as Tony’s holographic image faded away.  

“Uncle Rhodey!” Morgan yelled, snapping Rhodey out of his reverie. He turned to see the ladies and his wife, all waving at him to join them. He gave them a thumbs up and placed the helmet delicately where it was, before approaching them with careful steps.  

One of Morgan’s friends just cracked an inaudible joke that made her laugh—throwing her head back carefreely, _genuinely._ Carol watched them in amusement, before locking eyes with him, her gaze fond.  

Rhodey couldn’t help but to smile, too. 

 _She found them, Tones,_ he thought,  _Just_ _like I found you._  

**Author's Note:**

> Some Uncle Rhodey and Iron-Bros feels because (citation Levine) FRIENDSHIP IS IMPORTANT AND AMAZING AND EQUALLY AS IMPORTANT AS ROMANCE THUS SHOULD BE CELEBRATED!!! anyway, sob with me at fragilefangirl.tumblr.com


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